Desperate Times
by LMRichardson
Summary: Life for Brendan after Walker's revenge has been hard. Shut out by his sister, forced to abandon Ste for his own good; Brendan is lonely, angry and desperate. So when Ste decides he wants him back...will Brendan stay away to protect the man he loves? Or will old habbits die hard? Rated M for later chapters ;) AU now, I guess.
1. Daydreams (Ste)

Only two months ago, I wanted him to leave me alone. I wanted Doug. Not Brendan. But like the idiot everyone thinks I am, I want him back. I want him to want me like he used to.

'_Stay away from me'_

That's what he said. He told me to stay away from him. It's not the first time. Hell no, it's not the first time he's said those words to me. It always used to be followed by a punch. Or two. Or maybe a sigh and a kiss. Then a fuck. I hated that. And I loved that. I loved him. I _love _him. The good, the bad and the ugly of Brendan Brady.

I've seen every side of him. I've seen the brother; caring but exasperated. I've seen the lover; controlling, demanding but completely addictive. And I've seen the boss, the murder, the dad. I have seen every side of Brendan Brady. Been up close and personal with it too. That should make me hate him. It should make me the least likely person to be daydreaming about him. But, here I am, doing just that.

"Ste, love, any chance I could get a Panini?" asks Cheryl quietly. I still jump though, and I can feel my face heating as I try to pull my mind out of the gutter. The memory of lips slowly working their way down my body, followed by the scratch of a certain moustache slowly drift away as I face the man's sister.

"Hey, Cheryl" I say happily, leaning awkwardly over the counter to give her a hug. She looks tired. And sad. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, love. I'm doing okay. Well, as okay as I can be I guess" she says, picking at her thumb nail. I nod, unsure what to say. What do you say to someone who buried her best friend only two days ago? The memory of Rae's memorial surface springs to my mind. I'd just wanted people to let me deal with it me own way. So I say;

"Ham and cheese, yeah?"

"Please" and she smiles a small but genuine smile and folds herself into the seat by the window. I work in silence, making her food, but sit down next to her when Ii bring it over.

"It was a lovely service" I say uncertainly, remembering how everyone kept saying that to me after the memorial. As if it's just something that has to be done.

"Thanks, love" murmurs Cheryl. She looks like she wants to say something else, but she doesn't. Instead she takes a bite of the Panini, making appreciative noises at the back of her throat. A drop of grease from the cheese leaves a trail down her chin. It makes me laugh, but it dies after a second. It doesn't seem right to laugh. But then Cheryl wipes it away with the back of her hand and gives a small chuckle too. And, with that, she seems to relax and the awkwardness disappears.


	2. Oh, and the Whiskey (Brendan)

Life was beginning to become one big blur. Nothing particularly matters to me anymore. Or at least, that's what I'm trying to tell myself. As long as I've got a bottle of whiskey by my side and not a spare minute on my hands; I'm fine. The moment I have time to rest, it all comes back. Danny. Joel's step-dad. Walker. Ugh—Walker. My hand works angrily against the glass of whiskey I seem to have cradled against my chest constantly now. The man will pay. He'll be dead before the years out, I swear to myself. Well, it's not like there's anyone around for me to swear it to. The two people that I can even stand to be around for longer than ten minutes are carrying on with their own lives.

I'm thinking too much. I down the rest of my glass. That's the bottle gone then. I'd go and get another from the bar but I doubt my ability to walk one step, let alone the distance from the office to the good stuff. Looks like I'm facing another night in this chair. Alone.

I used to think I could handle almost anything. I used to think that I could face anything that was thrown at me. But, the truth be told; I can't face that flat. Not now that I'm the only one there. The place is full to bursting with memories. Happy breakfasts spent with the sister that's too disgusted to even look at me. Mind-blowing nights with the only man that has ever touched more than my body. He touched my heart, and now I can't go near him. I can't risk Walker coming back and putting Stephan in danger again. But that doesn't make staying away from that beautiful, flawless skin any easier. It gets harder, day after day, not to race round to that stupid, grubby house and loose myself in him. In his eyes; such a clear blue that you can read his soul through one glance. In his body; just the right size to fit next to me, under me, around me. Just in _him_.

Clenching my fingers around the glass angrily, I try to think of something else. Of _anything_ else. But I hadn't been lying that day when I told him he'd be in my head till I was in my grave. No, I hadn't kept my promise. I'd pushed him away again after. Let him down again. But I'd meant that. That was once promise that I know I'll always keep, whether I want to or not. He will always be in my head. There a hesitant knock at the door.

"Boss?" asks Rhys, poking his head around the half closed door.

"What?" I growl, half tempted to throw the glass at the idiots head.

"Bit early aint it….?" Starts Rhys, staring at me. It almost makes me laugh, imagining what he's seeing. A half-cut Irishman stroking an empty whiskey bottle behind his desk at lunchtime. His voice trails off as he remembers who he's talking to. "Er, delivery's here"

"Deal with it, then" I shout. "Go" and he scurries from the office like a terrified little boy. Guilt stabs my stomach for a second, remembering the wounded looks another certain ex-employee would shoot me whenever I ordered him about like that. The guilt disappears, drowned in the whiskey, as quickly as it came. Rhys is not Stephan. If I'm going to feel guilty, then I should aim it at the ex-barman that actually matters.

I lean back against the chair, resting my feet on the desk in the way that used to irritate Cheryl back when she bothered to come to the club. Memories of Stephan wander through my mind. The cocky shit that I first met. The drunken kiss that started this whole thing. His body, naked and slick with sweat writhing under me. The feel of his body crushed against my side and that ridiculous, excited grin plastered to his face when I tell him he can stay a little longer. They all jumble together, creating a torturous collage of what could have been. What I could still have if the threat of Walker wasn't still dangling over us. But is that it? What if there was no Walker? What if, for once, there was nothing in my way? Would I claim Stephan as mine? Introduce him as my….what? Boyfriend? Not likely. So why can't I move on? Even if I could be with the boy, the whole damn thing is wrong. We could never be more than a good shag. I may love him, but I can't just forget thirty years of being told that what I am, what I would have with Stephan, is wrong. Unnatural.

God, I need another drink. Many, many more drinks. No matter how wrong I know it is, I still want the boy. More than I have ever wanted anybody. And the only thing stopping me from going over there, right now, and wrapping myself round his skinny body, is the fact that it could be what kills him. Oh…and the whiskey. I'm pretty sure I'm over the limit.

But then something occurs to me. It's lunchtime. The Deli? I could stagger there easily.


	3. Just Once (Ste)

Cheryl perked up a bit eventually. She bolted down the Panini like Lucas used to with spaghetti hoops. It doesn't matter how long they've been gone. I miss me kids like crazy! It's like that with Cheryl. No matter how long Lindsey's been gone, it could be five years, ten, maybe even fifteen, when someone is that tangled in your life, you'll never forget about em, never move on. But I think I might be thinking about someone that aint exactly my kids. I'm thinking about a man with a moustache that's walking this way right now. I can feel a smile tugging at the sides of my mouth, wanting to greet him with a grin and a kiss. But, like normal, I keep this under control. He may think he's changed, but kissing him in public, especially now he don't want anything to do with me, will land me right back in hospital with more broken ribs to lie my way out of.

It's about then, remembering those broken ribs that my brain seems to kick in and figure out what's wrong about this whole thing…

Brendan's on his way here.

Tripping over his own feet and stumbling dangerously every couple of steps.

And Cheryl's in here!

"Shit" and the word is out of my mouth before I even think. Cheryl looks over at me, stopping mid whatever it was that she was saying, a question mark planted on her face. "Er—"I cough awkwardly, "We have a visitor."

"That's good, love" she chuckles, "this is a shop after all" but when she turns around to stare out at the window, the chuckle dies on her lips.

"I'll get rid of him" I promise, pulling the door open with more force than is probably good for the stupid hinges.

"Stephan!" greets Brendan, his voice sing-songing drunkenly. The Irish accent running over my name is enough to make me shiver. And it makes me angry; his ability to still affect me. I have Doug now, for fuck sake! I should _not _get hard just by hearing another man's voice!

"What do you want Brendan?" I demand, stepping back as he tilts forwards slightly, whether from the booze or something else, I don't know, but if he touches me, I won't stand a chance of getting rid of him.

"You" he replies silkily, this time leaning forward very purposefully, his fingers tangling in the material at the top of my shirt and dragging me toward him. I'd love to say it's unwillingly, but I'd be lying. Being close to him is addictive, and my body craves his touch even as my mind screams to run as far from him as I can. He's hard to second guess sober. I stand no chance with him this drunk.

"You had me, Brendan" I croak. He smirks knowingly. "And then you told me you didn't want me"

"I lied"

"You're lying now" I insist. He's slowly drawing me closer and closer to his chest, and all the blood has rushed from my head. Heat blazes in my crotch, dark curls of need twisting in the pit of my stomach as my ears ring.

"You'd know if I was." What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I don't know him anywhere near as well as I once thought I did. Nobody really knows Brendan Brady.

"You need to go home and sleep the whiskey off"

"Come with me" he says, and it sounds so much like begging that it makes me breathless. Brendan Brady _begging_? My chinos are uncomfortably tight, the need for friction of some kind driving me crazy. His eyes travel down my body, taking in the obvious bulge and he smiles darkly, the sight setting my body on fire. He steps closer unsteadily, finally closing the distance between us. "You want to" he slurs, detangling his fingers from the collar of my shirt and working their way across my chest.

"Yes" I say, and kick myself for actually saying what was running through my stupid head. His eyes blazed with need and his fingers work their way over my stomach, resting teasingly against the waistband of my chinos. Damn this uniform. It too _tight_! It's uncomfortable now, and I want to squirm in his grip, my hips ache to roll forwards, to meet his and the hardness that I'm sure is there too. But we're in the middle of the street and Doug could walk past any time. "Yes, I want to" I say again, "but I'm not going to"

"Stephan—" he starts angrily, but I turn my back on him, heading towards the Deli, running straight behind the counter to hide the result of talking to Brendan from Cheryl. There are some things that she just shouldn't have to see.

I sigh tiredly, closing my eyes.

I could go back out there, just go and have one last night with him. It would only have to be once. To get it out of my system. Just once. I would have been proud of myself for saying no to him once upon a time, but now I just feel hot, achingly hard and unsatisfied. And I know right then that I'm fighting a losing battle. If he corners me again, I'll be on my back in seconds, and I can't even bring myself to feel guilty as Doug's face flashes behind my eyelids.


End file.
